The Ridiculous Assumption
by LiiiSherlockJunkiee
Summary: First part of the "Hate & other feelings" - series: What happens if John tells Sherlock he doesn't believe him to be a sociopath? One's for sure: It will be an incredibly interesting conversation. "I'm not pouting. And you are avoiding my question. Why does it bother you?" "It doesn't" "It certainly does"


Hello there andwelcome to my first series! It's been long since I've written somthing so I hope it's not too bad...

Wish you fun and as always, please, please review, it would mean a great deal to me and updates would be definitely faster...at least I would try to post things more quickly.

Love you all :*

**The ridiculous assumption**

Life in 221b Baker Street was split up in different types of days. There are the case days, which mainly meant visiting crime scenes, running around, breaking some laws, getting shot at or stabbed in dark alleyways, catching serial killers, and after that's done, giggling like madmen while discussing what idiots people, especially the police officers are and what they'll have to eat. Then there are the days John had shift at the clinic and would come home to a sulking detective who probably blew up their kitchen because of an experiment or tortured their poor wall again. Sherlock's 'dark mood days' are the ones John feared the most. They are filled with complains of boredom, threats like the disappearance of certain jumpers if their owner refused to tell where the cigarettes were hidden, shouting from both of them which most of the time ended with John stumping out of the apartment, Sherlock shooting even more holes in the wall and Mrs Hudsen making tea to calm her nerves. And then there are the comfortable, lazy days, when both John and Sherlock are happy just to sit in their living room and keeping the other one company while doing mundane tasks like reading books (John) or just lying there and think (Sherlock). Today was definitely one of those days. It was early morning, and both habitants were sitting in their armchairs, enjoying the warm, dusty light of the rising sun. It was peacefully quiet. Until:

"You say you're a sociopath"

Sherlock, who currently sat with his elbows resting on the armrest, his hands pressed flat together and his fingertips brushing his lips, blinked slightly surprised but otherwise didn't move an inch.

"High functioning sociopath", remembered the deep baritone voice the doctor. John just rolled his eyes and continued surveying his friend with curiosity. After a couple of minutes filled with nothing but silence, Sherlock turned his head to look at the blond who wore an unreadable expression. He waited a few more seconds until he barked an impatient "So?"

"So…" repeated John and leaned back in his chair. The detective narrowed his eyes about the others suspicious behaviour and arranged himself in a different position, staring at the strange human being who represented his doctor, blogger, flatmate and only friend at the same time. What a strange human being indeed.

"So what, John", he snapped frustrated, not liking it at all that he actually had to ask. Sherlock Holmes never _asked._ He was supposed to be the one with all the answers.

"Well, I just thought that sociopaths can't…don't really like other people"

"What a stunning deduction. Maybe you should be the one who solves the crimes and me who blogs about it"

"Funny, Sherlock. No I mean…do you honestly believe that?"

"Believe _what? _Clarify yourself John, in contrary what you seem to think, I'm not able to read your mind"

"Alright, alright. Someone's bit touchy today, hm?"

"_John!"_

"Fine. Do you really think you're not able of feeling strongly for a person?"

"Yes"

"You're sure?"

"What exactly _is_ the point of this conversation?"

"I'm just…curious, I think"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and leaned a bit forward, causing John to press himself more into the cushions of his armchair.

"No, no that's not it. At least not everything"

The ex-soldier started cringing under his friend's intent gaze and tried to avoid eye contact.

"Is it bothering you John?"

"No! Not at all, why would it…"

"So it is. Leaves the question, why _would _it bother you?"

The Ex-soldier let out a deep sight and ruffled his hair. As he looked up again, he was met with a unique sight. Something he was sure nobody had been able to see before. The World's only Consulting Detective sat frowning in his armchair, feet tucked under the cushions, head slightly angled to the left, eyes shining in the light of the morning. And he seemed to be absolutely, hopelessly confused. A smile tucked at the corner of John's lips, causing Sherlock to cross his arms.

"I don't see what's funny"

The grin on the doctor's face grew even bigger.

"Oh it's nothing, I'm just not used to you being all confused and asking me questions."

The detective's face transformed itself into a gigantic pout.

"Don't be childish John"

"Oh of course, I am the childish one and you the perfectly reasonable grown up man who currently looks like a pouting 4 year old who's just lost his favourite teddy"

"I'm not pouting. And you are avoiding my question. Why does it bother you?"

"It doesn't"

"It certainly does and now stop being stupid and answer me"

Now it was John who crossed his arms. Then he uncrossed it again. He looked out of the window. He looked down at his feet. He crossed his arms again. Just as he was in the middle of uncrossing them he realized that Sherlock was still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and tapped impatiently with his foot on the floor.

"I don't believe that you're a sociopath"

"Oh? And what leads you to this ridiculous assumption?"

"You like Mrs Hudson"

There was a short moment of silence in which John felt immensely proud of himself and Sherlock leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together.

"At times I accept her company as slightly pleasurable"

"As slightly…that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard you say, and this really means something, considering I listen to your mad ramblings about the reaction of pig blood and different chemicals after being heated up in the microwave, which still smells after blood, by the way"

"It was an experiment"

"I don't bloody care"

They stared at each other.

"You like Lestrade"

"I act like I do because he gives me cases"

"That's a lie"

"And how do you want to proof this?"

"I just know"

"That doesn't really qualifies as proof"

"You like Molly"

"I don't"

"You do"

"I play nice because she can be useful. Sometimes"

"That's bullshit"

"I won't dignify this exclamation with an answer"

"Well, then you hate Anderson"

"Anderson is a stupid, incompetent and boring human being, just like 99.98 % of the world population and you honestly think _he _would be my one exception?"

"Fine, then what's with Moriarty?"

"What's with him?"

"I thought you hate him"

"Why should I?"

John gaped at him.

"Are you kidding me, Sherlock? He murdered god only knows how many people!"

"And? He's not the only one out there who kills these poor excuses of human beings and he's at least entertaining"

"So you like him?"

"No"

"No?"

"No, for god's sake! I neither like nor dislike him, because I _don't care. _What do you want me to say John? I don't hate anybody because they are not worth it, they give me no reason to bother myself with these kind of things and it's the same with all your other useless _feelings"_

John stayed quiet for a moment, clenching his teeth in anger, disappointment and hurt until he couldn't bare it anymore.

"And me? What am I, Sherlock?"

But to his surprise, he didn't get an answer. Sherlock just stared at him with his lips pressed together and a conflicted expression in his eyes. John frowned but before he had the chance to ask what the hell had gotten into his friend, all of a sudden Sherlocks mobile phone started ringing. The detective jumped to his feet and answered with a playful grin plastered on his face.

"Lestrade, stuck again, are we? I'll…", he stopped midsentence and shot a quick glance back to his still confused companion. "We'll be there in 10 minutes" With that he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and started to put on his scarf.

"Coming?"

John blinked a few times and nodded hesitantly.

"Of course"

A few seconds later they were both sitting in a cab, driving to the latest crime scene, as John thought of something.

"You like your skull"

Sherlock turned around to look at him with barely hidden annoyance.

"That's hardly a person"

"But you like it"

"No"

With that the detective faced the window again, not seeing his companion's small smile.

"It's okay you know. To have exceptions"

"I know that"

"So you're saying you have one?"

"I never said I don't"

"You're unbelievable", John sighed and rubbed his face.

"So, who is it?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered back to his and for a short moment there glittered something warm and caring behind their usual coldness.

"Certainly not my skull"

The cabby chose this exact moment to stop in front of the well-known yellow tape and with a swirl of his coat the detective disappeared.

John stared a moment longer at the now empty seat next to him until he remembered he had to get out someday.

"Bloody wanker" he muttered as he paid the cabby and ran after his friend.

* * *

><p>The end! At least for the first part ;)<p>

Review and tell me what you think! The question of all questions iiiiis: Who is Sherlock's exception?

Hahaha alright this won't be too hard to guess, will it? ;)


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